“Unfathomable mysteries of the human heart. Profound arcana. In that dimora casta e pura a fatal narcotic pervades the atmosphere.”
“Humbug!”
During this skirmish between mother and son the girl stood waiting, motionless, with her eyes fixed upon the ground. Doña Aurora, at last remembering her presence, turned toward her:
“Excuse me, child; this letter says that you will tell me what you have come to see me about. Will you come upstairs?”
“No, Señora. Don’t put yourself to any trouble on my account. Here will do just as well.”
“Well, let me hear. Is it some favor you wish to ask of me?”
“Favor? No, Señora. I would like to enter into service in your house—or in the house of some other Galician family,” she added, after a pause.
Doña Aurora looked fixedly at the petitioner and fancied she reddened slightly under her gaze.
“You—were not contented at the Señoritas de Romera’s, then?”
“Yes, Señora, I was contented enough—and I think they were pleased with me, too. You can see that from the letter they gave me. As far as the Señoritas are concerned I would be in glory, for they are as good as they can be, not belittling others. God grant them every prosperity! Only that sometimes—there are good people that one doesn’t find one’s self at home with. Those ladies are from Malaga, in the Andalusian country, and they have customs and dishes that I don’t understand. Even their way of talking is strange to me. When they tell me to do a thing and I don’t understand, I feel as if I had heard my death sentence. And, then, Señora, the truth before all—not to be among people of one’s own country, never to hear it mentioned, even, makes one’s heart very sad. For the half of the wages and with double the work I would rather serve a person from my own place.”